


Wahlverwandtschaft.

by loveknowsnoboundaries



Category: One Direction
Genre: Drug Addicted!Louis, Drug Dealer!Zayn, Harry has a dark past, M/M, dont want to spoiler you anything so i cant be more precise about him, homeless!louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveknowsnoboundaries/pseuds/loveknowsnoboundaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is certain that all bodies whatsoever, though they have no sense, yet they have perception; for when one body is applied to another, there is a kind of election to embrace that which is agreeable, and to exclude or expel that which is integrate; whether the body be alterant or altered, evermore perception percedeth operation; for else, all bodies would be like one to another."</p><p>Die Wahlverwandtschaften: the choice of one's elective attractions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> who else besides me wants to kill me because im starting a new fic even though i still have two left WIPs? raise your hands  
> anyways i hope you enjoy your reading, don't forget to leave kudos if you liked, and some comments too, of course! xx

He stared at the buses driving past him day and night. He stared at them and tried to peek on their inside, looking at all those people’s faces and focused on them; mothers with children in their laps, men always holding phones in their hands, busy with their jobs, old people sitting there trying to figure out how flip phones worked, youngsters with earphones plugged in, loud music playing on loop in their ears.  
He wondered where were they going, if they actually had something to do or if they just decided they’ve had enough of being stuck at home, if the bus they were waiting for was late, or worse, it never arrived and they had to take another one which wasn’t going where they were directed to.  
Louis didn’t simply stare, he observed and tried to get an idea of what those people’s lives might have felt like to be lived. He impersonated every single one of them, sitting in his usual spot, legs crossed as to protect his rucksack – the only thing he had left – abandoned in between them.  
He was a lawyer, an employee, a unemployed, freshly graduated young adult, even a single parent sometimes. He let other people’s lives slip in his own one to zone out from the world just that bit enough to allow him a bit of relax, freeing his mind from the hell he was living in.

The floor was wet, extremely wet (Louis hated Great Britain’s summers, they never felt like summers) and Louis’ only pair of ripped, over worn, black skinny jeans was all damp. His legs were freezing and hurting and started to tremble uncontrollably sometimes. Louis knew what he needed to stop them from quivering.

More than a thousand people walked past him every morning, avoiding him and his gaze as though he had some sort of infective disease; he never asked for money because it found it degrading, he didn’t want to pity himself or complain and asking for money felt just like complaining or as if he was pitying himself. Not that anybody ever gave him some.

Harry was a twenty-one year old boy, quite a normal one you’d say. He was tall, fit, had long, dark brown hair and big, deep green eyes; Harry had had a past that’d left him scarred, even though you would never think someone as kind hearted, sweet, good with children, gentle and well mannered as Harry could’ve had such a dark past like that.  
He didn’t like talking about the period of his life that went from when he was ten, to when he was about to turn fifteen, that was the period in which Harry’s life took a wrong turn and all went downhill. Maybe that’s why Harry now was so eager to help others, he did a lot of charity and couldn’t stand seeing people his age doing drugs or being left to their problems alone, with no help from no one.

He had one normal job, he worked in a pub as a waiter and gained enough money to support himself and live a decent life; he lived in a small, yet cosy and nice flat twenty five minutes far from  London’s city centre. Harry had one pair of what he called ‘lucky boots’, which he bought a couple of years before: Harry destroyed them completely but he couldn’t even bear the thought of throwing or giving them away.

Harry walked past that one boy a cold, cloudy Monday morning. He was heading to the subway’s station, and that boy was sitting right in front of its entrance, wearing a grey t-shirt which probably was a couple of sizes bigger than his, because its neck was so large that it continuously showed one of his bony shoulders, a pair of consumed black skinny jeans and a pair of black Vans (or better, what was left of them, since they looked so over worn that Harry doubted they still had a sole). He was sitting there, his back resting against the fake marbled wall, his eyed closed. He had only one black rucksack which seemed to be almost empty. Harry wondered when was did the boy last ate, because he looked unhealthily thin, one of his thigh was probably the size of Harry’s forearm.

Harry stopped for a moment (he still had about ten minutes left before taking his train) and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, checking that he had enough money to buy the subway’s ticket; he was left with enough money just to buy his ticket, but still decided to give the rest of it to that boy.

Louis wasn’t used to people looking at him for more than a couple of seconds, so he instantly felt someone’s gaze burning on the exposed skin of his shoulder; he didn’t open his eyes, waiting for whoever was staring at him to leave, and it worked. Louis sighed and tried to not pay attention to his arms and legs quivering like mad, high temperature, and the terrible need of a shooting up.  
He had one small dose left, but he couldn’t waste it already, since he wouldn’t have had enough money to buy some others of it.

Harry pulled twenty pounds out of his wallet and walked back to the boy, who was visibly sick; Harry bit his lips and shook his head, shaking his thoughts away along with that movement. “Hey.” He whispered, poking at the boy’s shoulder slightly and as gently as he could. The boy’s eyes snapped open and Harry felt as though a train hit him: they were _blue_ and _cold_ and Harry couldn’t look away, he just stood there, bent almost in a half, leaning towards the boy with twenty pounds in his hand. When he heard no reply coming from the boy, he decided to leave the money there on his rucksack, smile at him and leave.

Louis looked at the boy with big, green eyes leave some money on his rucksack before walking away, probably feeling proud of himself. Louis felt disgusted.  He looked at the money, he picked it up and turned it around and around in his hands, thinking that maybe he could’ve bought a quarter of a dose and he could’ve used the one he already had.  
He wanted to kick everything that was around him and break it into a million pieces to give vent to his anger.  
 Louis was one proud person and that gesture made him feel completely humiliated. He got up from his spot, hoping that his legs weren’t going to fail him in that precise moment, and stumbled over the entrance of the subway, looking for a tall, curly haired boy.

Harry hurried to the tickets’ station, quickly buying a ticket before rushing to the stop: he arrived there just as the train left; he sat on the last free seat, sighing and running his hands through his hair. He blamed himself for not having brought a rubber band with him.  
As he waited for the next train, Harry pulled a book out of his bag – _To kill a mockingbird_ , by Harper Lee: it was his favourite book, and he kept rereading it even though that probably was the thousandth time he did so.

“Hey, you!” He heard, coming from somewhere behind his shoulders but he didn’t turn, thinking that he wasn’t the one being called out. “You deaf?” This time the voice was nearer, but still he only turned when someone patted a hand on his shoulder: it was _the_ boy, a frown creasing his forehead, his eyes all glossy because of the – probably higher than how Harry could imagine – fever and twenty pounds in his hand. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He hissed, slapping the hand in which he kept the twenty pounds on Harry’s chest, looking at him as if he was going to bite his head off at any moment.  
Harry looked up at the boy, not saying a word as he watched him leaving, walking away with a slight limp. Harry wanted to forget, but that boy reminded him so much of things that had happened in his past. Harry wanted to forget, but he couldn’t help but feel the urge to run back to that boy and force him to keep the money, no matter what he was planning on doing with that.

Louis walked away, a vein in his neck was pulsating madly and it hurt, his arms felt all scratchy and Louis just wanted to pass out right there, thinking that he was going to forget all that happened when he would wake up.  
He shook his head, feeling nauseated: a lot of people in his same condition would’ve cried out of happiness if they had the chance to hold twenty pounds in their hands. Louis thought of that action as something people used to feel better with themselves even if all they actually were was a _whole bunch of filthy worms._  
Louis didn’t need money, he was perfectly capable of doing things on his own without some random stranger’s help.

                                                                         ****

“Louis, it’s fucking three in the morning _._ ”

“I know, I-I know-” Louis sobbed. He gave in some hours before and now was left with an empty syringe and some awfully-looking livid arms. “I-I need so-something.”

“Only if you can pay me. I gave you a free shooting up last time, but I’m afraid you won’t get used to it happening very often.” Zayn said, looking at the quivering and sobbing mess that Louis was.

“I’ll f-find the mo-money, I promise, just-”

“I’m sorry, Louis.” Zayn replied, starting to walk away from the blue eyed boy. Louis’ legs automatically moved towards Zayn, his arms rose on their own to block him. “It was a no.”

Louis’ eyes were red, teary and puffy from crying, and Zayn was almost about to surrender to that vision. “Ha-half a normal dose. A qu-quarter of it, I ju-just need it,” Louis showed Zayn his veiny, thin and black-and-blue arms, and the raven haired boy looked away. “please.”

“I said no, Louis. Find the money, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Louis sat on the cold ground, sobbing to the point that he couldn’t breathe right anymore, with his syringe held in his hand as if his life depended on it. Or better, it did.  
In that situation, with a high temperature almost killing him, a terrible headache and the absolute carving for a shooting up, Louis thought that _maybe_ he could’ve kept those twenty pounds.


	2. 2.

_A nineteen year old Harry sat on the ground, knees bent up to his chest, one of his arms hugging them, while the other one was forgotten beside his body. He looked at the subway’s big clock placed on the wall in front of him: 9.54 a.m.. Only one mere hour had passed since he did his first shooting up of the day, and he already was craving madly for another one.  
One of his hand slipped in the right pocket of his jeans, looking for some money, even a penny could’ve make it; he found nothing, and slapped that hand on the ground, making a child turn to him. _

_“What, huh?” He huffed, and the child suddenly flinched, his mother looked at Harry with half scared, half angry eyes and got up from the bench they both were sitting on, and left to enter the subway’s station, even if she probably was twenty minutes early._

_The tears burned in Harry’s eyes but he fought them back, he couldn’t cry, he was a man, he was sixteen now. He couldn’t cry._

_‘And you, you should be what people call a man?’_

_Harry was a man, he was sure he was, he could feel he was._

_He remembered when he was fifteen, and had some friends who weren’t that kind of people who people call ‘good guys’: that was the period in which Harry discovered the enormous and frightening world of the drugs. He was sixteen when he met Briana, he thought she looked quite good, but he clearly was higher than he had ever been in his whole life._  
_She started flirting, and Harry flirted back; Briana kissed him and Harry was too weak to push her back, her kiss tasted of beer and marijuana and even though Harry’s mouth tasted the same, he thought he could’ve puked right there. Anyways, Harry found himself straddling the blonde girl in a squalid room of a squalid pub in the abandoned-looked area Harry and his friends frequented._  
 _Harry had no condoms with him but Briana told him that it wasn’t a problem for her; Harry was sixteen when he ruined his life forever._

_Briana called him again three, or four weeks later telling him she was pregnant and that the baby was surely his. Harry almost passed out, but still tried to act cool in front of his parents, who were completely unaware of what Harry did when he’d say that he was just hanging out with his friends but then got back home with red, puffy eyes and the worst hangover ever.  
Harry wanted to get out of that tunnel, even though he couldn’t even see the end of it, he couldn’t see the light at the end of it and he felt like he was suffocating. Harry had just turned seventeen, and he decided that wasn’t life, the one he was living. Or better, watching as it passed right under his eyes._

_Harry found a good job in a pub in the centre of London, he was quite well paid and he hadn’t been hearing from Briana for a long time, so he started thinking that she finally found what she was looking for and that she’d decided to leave Harry alone._  
_He was wrong._  
 _It was late at night when he got home from work, so he got in as silent as possible, left his keys on the coffee table in the living room as usual, and went to climb the first steps that led upstairs to his room: that’s when he heard his mother calling him. He headed back down into the kitchen, to find his parents sitting around the small table, his father was drumming his fingers nervously on the table and that meant nothing good. Harry acted as natural as he could, sitting next to his mother and asking them what was wrong, and the answer his father gave him hit him so hard that his chest started hurting: “You’re a fucking disgrace, all you think about is smoking your lungs away and fucking some random girl that looks good enough.”_  
 _He later found out – when his parents had already kicked him out – that Briana had talked to them when Harry stopped calling her, because he thought that she’d lost interest in him. So at that point, Harry only had his job, but no house, no other economical resources, no anything_.

_He saw Briana the last time when he was eighteen. She stormed into the pub Harry worked in, starting to yell at him that she couldn’t afford taking care of a baby on her own, that she needed money and that since Harry was the baby’s father, he had to provide her with everything she would’ve needed: that meant giving away precious money that Harry needed to pay the rent of his new apartment.  
Harry threw his motorbike’s keys at her, telling Briana that she could’ve done whatever she wanted of that vehicle, but only if she would’ve literally disappeared from Harry’s life. She accepted, and Harry never heard from her again._

_A couple of weeks later, Harry was reading one of the local newspapers and when he laid his eyes on its first page, he felt as if he was going to pass out at any moment._

**A YOUNG MOTHER AND HER CHILD DIE IN A CAR CRASH IN EAST LONDON**

_Harry couldn’t look away from the picture portraying Briana and her child, and the picture which portrayed their dead bodies covered by a white sheet, which contrasted with the black of the asphalt and the red stains on the grey varnish of Harry’s – completely destroyed – motorbike._

***

Harry had learned how to cope with life throughout some tough years, and the experience of those years – which now seemed to be comfortably far, but still frighteningly near – had left some deep scars inside Harry, that weren’t going to heal that easily.  
That’s why he decided he couldn’t stand looking at that boy sitting on the floor, in the same spot as the day before, in almost the same position as the day before, looking sickly thin and _ill_ without being his empathic self, and without feeling the urge to help him, before the situation would’ve worsened.

“Two chicken sandwiches, two portions of fries and two cokes, please.” Harry ordered, and the waitress behind the counter nodded, clicking on something on her iPad. “Can you put them in two separate bags, please?”

“Of course, sir. Your order’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

Harry nodded and thanked her before paying and waiting for his food outside; he thought about how sad those eyes looked, about how much fear he’s seen in them, about how much those eyes remembered him _his_ eyes, just a couple of years before.  
He got his two lunch bags and walked to the underground’s station, wishing that his lucky boots were going to be worth the name he gave them; Harry arrived in front of the subway’s station and found that boy still sitting there, his legs and arms wrapped around his rucksack as if he was hugging it, and his head laying upon it.

“Can I sit here?”

The boy raised his head with a guttural groan, looking up at Harry and huffing one he recognised him. “Lots of free seats, and you want to sit here on the concrete.”

Harry loved that boy’s voice, he could’ve stayed there listening to it the whole time. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Yes, to be honest.”

“Okay.” Harry said, and sat on the ground, next to the blue eyed boy, which scooted away from Harry, who didn’t seem to care about it at all. He laid the extra lunch bag on the ground, right in between them, and started eating his lunch, without looking at what the boy did with the packed lunch Harry so nonchalantly left there.

Louis looked at him quite confused; that boy had something that made him feel guilty for what he said before, and guiltiness wasn’t a feeling Louis commonly felt. He just sat there, although Louis had clearly told him he didn’t want him there, eating his lunch after leaving a _lunch bag_ right next to him. Why would someone do that for him? Louis couldn’t answer this one. Maybe he wasn’t doing that for him at all, maybe he was just hungry. Maybe there was something else in that bag. But Louis still had no answers for the question: why has that boy decided to seat right next to Louis, outside the subway’s station, when there probably were a dozen free seats _inside_ , where he couldn’t have risked to get a cold because of the newly pouring rain?

“Can I ask you what your name is?”

“You just did.”

“Are you going to reply, then?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

Harry finished eating his sandwich and got up, greeting Louis with a quick ‘bye’ he didn’t reply to, and left the brown lunch bag right where he first laid it when he arrived; Louis moved his gaze away from the bag, trying his best not to cede to the hunger that was literally assaulting him. Louis had never suffered hunger, because whenever he would’ve felt hungry, he would have his daily shooting up and hunger would’ve disappeared.  
But Louis now had nothing left and felt extremely hungry.

Harry hid behind the wall that separated him from the blue eyed boy and stared at him from behind it, curious to see what the boy was going to do with the lunch Harry got him.

Louis grabbed the brown bag and looked in the direction the weirdly dressed up, curly haired boy had disappeared in, and frowned; he felt the warmth of the food contained into the bag and his stomach growled angrily.

Louis was one proud person and he remained totally loyal to his precepts even when he was probably thirty-three pounds underweight and in a desperate need for something to eat, so he laid the bag back on the ground, glancing at it every now and then without ever taking it, as he considered that gesture as if he surrendered, but he didn’t get up to either throw it away or give it back to the green eyed boy as he did with those twenty pounds the day before.

Harry smiled and shook his head at how proud that boy seemed to be. He would’ve thrown himself on that bag if he found himself in his situation – Harry know he would have because he once had been in his situation, and he couldn’t understand _why_ that boy was so stubborn.

“You can take it, it won’t eat you.”         

Louis turned to the entrance of the underground so abruptly that he stirred a muscle in his neck: he massaged his neck, looking for the curly haired boy, because he was quite sure it was him – who else? – but he was nowhere to be seen.

Harry had already took his usual train, and was now sitting there, a book open on his legs and his earphones in his ears. He wondered whether the blue eyed boy had finally decided to take the lunch bag or if he left it there and found a new place to stay because he couldn’t stand Harry anymore.  
He didn’t care about what the answer actually was, he was determined to help that boy out of whatever got him trapped, and he wasn’t going to surrender any sooner.  
Harry was made that way, he needed to help the others fix their problems even though nobody ever helped him to fix his own ones, he was left to himself but still found the strength to get out of the shit he’d found himself tangled in.

That was what Harry wanted to give to the blue eyed boy.  
Strength.


	3. 3.

_“Fifteen, twenty... thirty, this should do.”_

_Louis said, putting back his wallet in the pocket of his jeans; he adjusted the black rucksack (which was completely empty, but it was the first thing Louis could grab before the door was slammed closed in front of his face) on his right shoulder and headed straight to the northern part of the town, directed to a neighbourhood which wasn’t exactly one of the richest or safest._

_The weather was quite chilly, the sky was covered with gray, soft-looking clouds which clearly meant it was going to rain sooner or later; a shy ray of sunshine peeked from the thick layer of clouds every now and then, to suddenly be covered again. Louis hoped it wasn’t really going to rain, because he didn’t even have an umbrella – nor he could afford one – or a place to hide into. He couldn’t spend twenty pounds on a hot meal, and even though he was sure his boyfriend was going to welcome him in once he arrived, Louis preferred to keep those thirty pounds for a case of necessity._

_Louis turned right into a small alleyway; he didn’t know that part of the town so well, he hoped he wasn’t going to get lost because he’d left his phone at home and he couldn’t go back to pick it up. Louis wrapped his arms around his waist and held himself together, took a deep breath and kept walking, heading to a small house on the left side of the street. He walked down the driveway that divided in two parts the small garden in front of the house, reached the door and knocked three times.  
He recognised two different voices coming from the inside of the house, which belonged to two boys,  and Louis suddenly recognised one of them as his boyfriend’s and smiled, feeling a weird heat spreading inside him. Liam. That guy could’ve made Louis’ legs and hands tremble only by smiling at him._

_“’Be back in a minute!” Louis smile grew wider and wider, despite everything that had happened just about twenty minutes before, as he heard Liam’s steps getting closer and closer, until the door opened. “Oh, Louis. It’s you.”_

_Louis thought that Liam was smiling until he saw him standing in front of his house’s door, because as soon as the taller boy laid his gaze on him, the smile dropped off from his lips. “I’m sorry, I just... didn’t know where to go. I’ve been kicked out... told you it wasn’t a good idea.” Louis smiled shyly and shrugged, knowing that Liam would’ve understood._

_“I’m quite busy at the moment.” He replied, flatly._

_“But I’ve been kicked out, I know no other places to go to, I thought-”_

_“Listen,” Liam half closed the door behind his back, and took a few steps towards Louis, his eyes still locked on Louis, who gulped and took as steps back. “you can’t show up here like this, uninvited. I don’t care if you’ve been kicked out, all of your siblings live around here and I know it, why don’t you go and ask one of them to let you spend the night over? I’m busy.”_

_“But I came out of the closet to my parents because you asked me,” Louis said, so puzzled that he found the courage to reply to Liam’s speech, which absolutely made no sense to Louis’ ears. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea because I know my parents. If I wanted to save our relationship, as you said, I had to do my coming out, and I did. Now I’m here, I’m asking you for just one night, then I’ll find a place to go.”_

_“Why don’t you go now, instead of coming here and wasting your time?”_

_The door slammed closed – for the second time that day, Louis decided he’d had enough. He stood there, in front of his (ex, Louis now guessed) boyfriend’s house, an empty rucksack on his shoulder and no place to spend the night at._

_It had started raining._

_He’d found a seedy and cheap motel not far away from the centre of the town – actually he didn’t even know where he was, he had just found it after walking for four hours or so. He’d asked for a single room just for one night, and the lady at the reception had been extremely sweet and comprehensive with Louis, so she took his thirty pounds instead of kicking him out again because he didn’t have enough money to pay for a room._

_He was laying on the bed placed in the centre of the room, staring at the white ceiling and letting the feeling of being left completely alone swallow him; it surrounded and enveloped him, and Louis just wanted it to stop, wanted to open his eyes and realise that he’d been looking at the ceiling of his room, he wanted to rush downstairs and find his parents sitting at the dinner table, waiting for him before starting to eat their breakfast, he wanted to go to school and have Liam to pick him up when he’d get out, so he closed his eyes and opened them again, wishing that all that had happened was just a dream.  
But it didn’t work._

_The small room suffocated him, there wasn’t enough air, Louis’ lungs ached so he decided to go for a walk, without minding that it was one o’clock in the morning and that you weren’t going to meet actually nice person in that area of the town, at that time of the day. Nevertheless, he left._

_Louis’  feet were killing him, yet he didn’t want to stop, he didn’t know where was he going but he didn’t care, his legs guided him and he didn’t want to think about or know anything else._

_“You got lost, kid?” Louis turned around, looking for the place the voice calling him (because there was nobody else on the streets) came from. “Right in front of you.”_

_Louis turned again and flinched, quite scared; what looked more like a tall, slim shadow came out of the darkness of the narrow alley and Louis felt suddenly less frightened, seeing that the boy in front of him was only a few years older than him. “So, you got lost?”_

_“No, I- I just wanted to walk and-”_

_“This is not the best place to take a walk in, you know?” He laughed softly, and Louis shrugged, smiling a little._

_“I’ve never been here, I had no idea.”_

_“I’m Zayn,” The boy said, and Louis shook his hand, introducing himself soon after. “I’ve never seen you around here, Louis.”_

_“That’s quite a long story.”_

_“I have the whole night.”_

_Zayn listened to what had happened to Louis – who had had absolutely no problems with venting his problems and worries to a complete stranger, since he had no one left to talk to – while taking him back to the motel to get his rucksack, telling him he could’ve stayed at his place for a few days, while Zayn himself would’ve looked for a job for Louis._

_Louis was sixteen years old when Zayn let him go around in the streets to sell drugs.  
And Louis was eighteen when he became addicted to heroin._

_“I can’t keep you with me, Louis,” Zayn had knelt down in front of the boy, who was slumped against the wall of Zayn’s bathroom, only in his boxers, with an haemostatic lace still wrapped around his arm and a syringe thrown near the shower plate._

_“I can’t keep you with me, Louis. You’ve become too recognisable, do you get me?” Zayn had knelt down, and was now facing the blue eyed boy. “It would be too dangerous for me, and for you too.”_

_“Don’t want to be alone again...” Louis mumbled, his head felt so heavy he let it fall on his shoulder._

_“I don’t know what else to do.”_

_“Just gimme what I need.”Louis was looking at Zayn through his eyelashes, his eyes glassy and empty. “I’ll pay.” Zayn had agreed, and Louis had left._

Living on the street was hard as Hell and Harry knew it.   
The boy with those big, blue eyes was always there, the lunch bag always left forgotten next to his legs – Harry wondered if he actually ate something from it when he would leave. He thought that, probably, having understood that the boy was quite stubborn and proud, he didn’t eat the lunch Harry bought for him everyday not even if he was extremely hungry. Harry also worried about how tiny and fragile the boy looked, how he could clearly see all his bones and tendons whenever he would move, how frighteningly sharp his cheekbones and jaw line looked.

Harry wanted to help him, he just needed the boy to _let him_.

“Hi.” He said, sitting on the curb next to the blue eyed boy, who moved away from him a few inches. “I’ll leave this here, alright?”

The other huffed and rolled his eyes, moving his head so that Harry couldn’t see his face anymore. He ate, people passing by looked at them and at the bag placed in between the two boys, he didn’t care about what they were thinking. He was just eating his lunch.

Harry didn’t leave for work that morning, he simply told everyone he was sick and that he would’ve gone out just to get some medicines – in case someone spotted him around – and just walked around the subway station, checking if the boy was still there. He was sitting there, without asking for food or money, putting the lunch Harry had got him in his rucksack, and Harry smiled, thinking that he was going to eat it sooner or later.

It was nearly nine p.m. when the boy got up, looked around and then started walking with his head low and his rucksack on his right shoulder; Harry got up from the bench he was sitting on and started following him: they turned left in a wide street that Harry recognised later, when they reached the supermarket Harry always went shopping in; he kept following the boy to the back of the supermarket, and Harry eventually discovered where the boy lived.

There was a middle-aged woman with her daughter sitting on her lap, they had blankets over their shoulders to keep them from freezing at night, and Harry wondered if the boy had one, too.

“Hi, Louise,” He greeted her and ruffled the little girl’s hair, making him laugh. Harry had never thought the boy was actually _able to smile_. “I got you something.”

“Louis, darling,” _Louis._ “You need this more than us.” The woman smiled warmly, alluding at how skinny Louis was. He shook his head, placing the brown bag on the open palm of the woman in front of him.

“You’re two, she’s got to eat more than how I should.”

“You’re an angel.” She replied, and Louis just shrugged.

“Good night, Louise. ‘Night, Lux.” He greeted them, waving at the little girl and smiling when she waved and smiled back.

The woman wished him a good night, too, and Harry followed Louis with his gaze, seeing as he hid under a fire escape staircase and laid on a ‘bed’ made out of cardboard box, which Harry assumed to be Louis’ bed. He had nothing to keep him from the freezing cold at night.

                                                             *******************

Harry decided that small lies had never hurt anyone, so he said he was sick again.

He got out when the shops were nearly all closed, and made it just in time to buy a couple of blankets – “The warmest blankets you have here” – and hoped that Louis hadn’t decided to get back to the supermarket’s parking lot earlier that day. He found it completely empty, but still tried to not get noticed as he ran to where Louis’ slept, adjusted all the carton and placed the blanket there, leaving a short note on top of them.

                                                           ********************

_‘Please keep them’_.

Louis looked over his shoulders, thinking that whoever had left those blankets had to be still somewhere near. He saw nobody else besides Louise and her daughter, his mind went to that green, deer-eyed boy for a moment but he suddenly shook the thought away, and sat on the carton, feeling the soft fabric of the blankets under his fingers.  
Maybe he could’ve kept them, they could’ve helped his fever.

He slipped under them, the image of the curly haired boy still printed in his mind.


	4. 4.

“You have a secret admirer, huh?” Louise said, handing Louis a piece of the toast he gave them the day before.

“What are you talking about?” He replied, looking at the woman in front of him, rising an eyebrow. Lux was sitting on one of the blankets Louis had received, playing with an old and ruined doll a little girl dropped once.

“I saw a boy putting something where you sleep, over there,” She said, pointing to the staircase Louis slept under. “he was looking around, he didn’t see us standing right at the entrance of the parking lot, left something and then ran away. I doubt he was looking for someone else, since it’s basically just the three of us here.”

“I know no one else besides you and Lux.” He did, indeed. He just found it hard to believe that _that_ boy thought of him and brought him blankets. He found it hard to believe that anyone could’ve thought of him, generally.

Louise smiled. It was getting late, and cold, but she insisted that Louis kept the blanket that was left, because he was already ill and weak and he needed to stay warm. Louis hugged her, and nearly cried when she held him tight for a moment before letting him go with a softly whispered ‘Good night, darling’.

Louis couldn’t sleep, he held that blanket in his hands and decided that he needed an answer. He walked out of the parking lot and hoped to meet the boy once again before he would leave; he saw only one person still sitting in front of the subway’s entrance, and he had no doubt he was the curly haired one he was looking for.  
He sat next to him and found hilarious how that was actually _them,_ sitting next to each other saying nothing. But this time – and what happened then surprised Harry as well – Louis had to talk.

 “It was you.”

“What?”

Harry turned his head to the blue eyed boy and recognised the blanket that he was holding in his hands.

 “The blankets. It was you who left them there.”

“Maybe.”

 “Why?”

“Because you make it so that I’m never alone while having breakfast.” Harry replied simply, leaving Louis with a slight perplexed expression on his face. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“I said nothing.” Louis replied.

That vein in his temple wouldn’t stop pulsating, so he brought one of his hands up to his head and pushed on it; unfortunately, it didn’t quite help. Louis quickly moved his hand away from his head,

“By the way, I’m Harry.” He spoke. “I- this doesn’t sound right, but anyway, I know your name so I thought you might wanted to know mine.”

“I didn’t.” Louis replied harshly, but Harry just _smiled_ and that probably was the last thing he saw before his eyes shut closed. His knees hit the hard ground and he even hit his head as he fell. Harry didn’t realise what had happened until he saw Louis’ body laying on the ground; he knelt down beside him and rolled him on his back, shaking the boy a little, hoping he’d wake up.

“Fuck,” He said, taking Louis in his arm and carrying him to his car; he laid him on the backseats, Louis’ skin was boiling under his fingers when Harry grazed his cheek before closing the door and rushing to the hospital – luckily, it was nearby. Harry wasn’t sure Louis would’ve made it if the hospital was too far.

He entered the Casualty Department and asked for help to one of the doctors. “He- he just passed out, I- he may have fever-”

The doctor called some nurses, who helped Harry lay Louis on a gurney and carried him to the first free room. Harry had to wait outside, in the waiting room, and only then, he actually realised how scared he’s gotten: the nurses were all around Louis, and when one of them turned Louis’ left arm to put a drip feed in it, it looked all livid and the veins were _just too visible,_ according to Harry’s opinion. One of them saw Harry staring at the boy on the bed and closed the door of the room, leaving Harry who could do nothing out there, besides waiting.

“I’m sorry,” He stopped one of the nurses who was walking to Louis’ room. “when- when can I see him?”

The nurse smiled at him and “Soon” she replied, but a simple ‘soon’ meant nothing to Harry, since he knew that Louis’ condition required a bit more than just a hour. When the nurse opened the door, Harry spotted Louis, he was so pale his skin had even started to look greyish, and that sight made Harry feel sick; he didn’t want to think about what was going to happen. He felt guilty. 

10 p.m., “Soon, just wait.”

1.00 a.m., “Darling, he isn’t awake yet.”

3.00 a.m., “We’re doing our best.”

Louis’ eyelids started to feel less heavier and he managed to open his eyes some minutes after. He looked around, and it didn’t take him too long to realise he was in a hospital. “No,” He whispered, getting up despite his head spinning. “No, no, no!” He yelled, catching the attention of a nurse who was outside his room, talking to Harry.

“Please, sit back on the bed.” She said, calmly, laying one hand on Louis’ chest and trying to push him gently back on the bed, but Louis categorically refused to.  
He started to violently take all the drips out from his arms, the he wrapped them around his waist and began to nervously scratch them: they became all red and irritated, and some of the scratches had started bleeding, too. Harry wasn’t going to simply look at what was happening, this time, so he rushed into the room and, as soon as Louis saw him, he started crying desperately, screaming “Harry, Harry please, take me out of here, please!” Harry walked next to Louis’ bed and grabbed his hands in his own and moved Louis’ arm around his neck; the boy clung on him with all the strength he had and kept crying and whining and muffling screams into Harry’s chest. “You’re fine, you’re just fine,” Harry tried to soothe him as he picked up from the bed, not caring about the nurses screaming that he still needed cures. “shh, it’s fine. I’m here, you’re going to stay with me.” Louis didn’t want to stay there, he didn’t want their help, he only wanted Harry’s and Harry was going to give him whatever he wanted.

He held Louis tight to his chest, and the boy seemed to have calmed down a little. He sat him on the passenger seat and he quickly got in, starting the car and heading home; Louis fell back asleep in a matter of moments, and Harry always kept one of his hands in his, squeezing it every now and then.

By the time they got to Harry’s house, Louis had woken up and said nothing about the boy still holding his hand. Harry helped him to get out of the car and reach the main door.

“How are you feeling? Do you want to, I don’t know, rest-” Harry said, closing the door behind his back, one of his arms still wrapped around Louis’ thin waist to hold him up.

“Shower,” The boy whispered in reply. “can I take a shower?”

So Harry took Louis upstairs, showed him where the bathroom was and then Louis asked him to leave. Harry told him to call him if he needed anything, and walked to his bedroom to get the boy some clean clothes.  
What had left Harry astonished was the fact that Louis seemed so introvert and extremely stubborn, as though he thought he was in need for no help of any form or kind, and now that same guy had cried and screamed for Harry to help him and he had kind of _let him in_ and Harry just couldn’t stop smiling at the thought.

Louis stepped into the bathtub carefully, holding with both hands onto its edge. He let the water envelop his body, he felt as though he had forgot what taking a bath felt like. After having slid under the water a few times, he reached for Harry’s shampoo and bath foam, their smell reached Louis’ nostrils, he liked the way they smelled. When he started to actually feel _clean_ , in the most literal yet metaphorical sense that word may have had, Louis’ eyes started watering; he was clean, clean after years of living on the streets, after years of being abused and used, after nearly seven years of being homeless, Louis felt clean.  
He was smiling and crying at the same time, he was happy yet afraid that it could’ve been just the most beautiful dream he’d ever had.

“Louis, you okay?” He heard Harry’s voice coming from behind the bathroom’s door and nodded, realising right after that that Harry couldn’t see him.

“Yeah.” He replied in a whisper, scared of how weak his own voice sounded.

“Can I come in? I’ve got a towel and clean clothes.” Louis replied with a yes again, and Harry quickly got in, left some clothes and a towel on a chest of drawers then left. Louis shook his head and slowly got out of the bathtub, risking to start crying again because _he actually smelled fucking nice_ and tried on what surely were Harry’s clothes, because they were more than three sizes bigger than his, but they felt so comfortable and Louis felt grateful, even though he still thought he couldn’t stand the curly haired boy.

Louis looked at his face in the mirror and decided he needed to shave (he hadn’t even had a beard when he had been kicked out): he grabbed Harry’s shaving cream and a razor that the curly haired boy had left on the sink for him, and started shaving his beard, realising how hollow and sick his face looked; he traced the outline of his cheekbones and jaw with his index finger, feeling the sharp bones under it.

“You know, you look a lot younger with your beard shaved,” Harry said, as soon as Louis walked in the small living room. The blue eyed boy rolled his eyes and sat on the sofa; Harry looked at him, that boy who looked so small and fragile, whose sweatshirt seemed to swallow him in completely, who looked even smaller as he sat on his sofa, which wasn’t even that big. Louis needed protection and Harry was there to give it to him. “I made you some tea, I thought it could’ve helped...” Louis grabbed the hot, steamy cup and took small sips from it. “and here are your medicines.”

They spent the rest of the night (morning, since it was nearly 5 a.m.) being silent, and Harry only realised Louis had fallen asleep again when the empty cup fell from his hand and rolled on the ground.  
Harry smiled, pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes, before getting up to take Louis in his arms once again, walked upstairs and carefully laid the boy on his bed, then covered Louis’ body with the soft duvet and caressed his fringe and cheek. “Hmh.” Louis groaned and opened his eyes, looking at Harry as he tugged on his arm. “Where are you going?” He whispered, his eyelids slowly falling closed again, as Harry reassured him that he was going nowhere.

“Do you want me to stay?” Louis didn’t reply, only scooted a bit over the other side of the bed, leaving some room for Harry. “Okay, okay. I get it.” Harry said, smiling mostly to himself since Louis had probably fallen back asleep. He got undressed and slid under the duvet, carefully wrapping an arm around Louis’ fragile body, trying not to wake him up.  
Harry sighed in relief because _Louis was there with him and he was (kind of) okay but all that mattered was that he was sleeping and he looked so peaceful and beautiful and Harry just couldn’t look away_.


End file.
